Ghosts
by illman
Summary: Tony Hill comes to learn that not all evil is human in nature. Xover with Supernatural. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: Ghosts

Author: illman aka hexicode

Fandom/pairing (if appropriate): Wire In The Blood, Supernatural, no pairing

Summary: Tony Hill comes to learn that not all evil is human in nature.

Rating: all ages

Warnings: mild horror, crack, crossover between incompatible fandoms

Disclaimers: The characters and settings aren't mine. No profit is being made, this is for entertainment only. I know nothing about psychology or police procedure, this is purely a product of my imagination.

A/N: This story was written for a Ficathon on livejournal, using a prompt from _Ash Wednesday_ by TS Eliot. And yes, I know the ending sucks.

oOo

"So, how is Andrew?" Tamara Gold asked jovially as she and her partner Paul Taylor steered the car through the quiet residential neighbourhood.

"He's been suspended, again," Paul said and sighed. "Janet and I don't know what to do with him anymore. He leaves the house all right every morning, but then yesterday we got a call from his school; he hasn't been to class in two weeks."

"So, they've suspended him?" Tamara asked.

"It's ironic isn't it? Now he's spending another two weeks loitering in the streets. Short of locking him in the flat, there is no way we can keep him home. To be frank, Janet is…." Paul took them around a sharp turn into a long cul-de-sac. "That should be it, if the Sat-Nav is right."

"When is it ever?" Tamara asked. "I don't see anyone just walking by the place. It's at least a hundred feet from the main road." Tamara gauged the distance between them and the large property at the end of the cul-de-sac.

The two police officers got out of their car and walked down the rest of the road towards the wrought iron gates that barred entrance to the property. The gates were closed off by high stone walls surrounding the property on all three remaining sides.

Close up, the damage to the gates was clearly visible. The lock welded to the gates had been completely destroyed and the gates had been chained together with a padlock to keep out unwanted visitors.

Paul pressed the buzzer while Tamara walked along the length of the gate. Through the bars, a house was visible set far back in an overgrown garden.

"Doesn't look like anyone is home," Paul commented as he pressed the buzzer again.

"The anonymous caller reported a foul smell coming from the property. I don't smell anything and frankly I don't see how anyone could smell anything coming from the house."

"It's probably just a dead dog." Paul shrugged.

Tamara didn't reply. Using a boulder lying next to the wall, she pulled herself up on the stone wall, trying to get a better look at the property. At first sight, she could see nothing more than she had seen through the gates: a neglected garden and an equally neglected home. The house paint was a peeling, faded yellow. The windows looked blind, dirty curtains drawn shut in them. There was a shed further back half-hidden behind a copse of trees. Then she saw it, dangling high from one of the trees.

"Paul," Tamara stammered. "It's not a dead dog. There a body, it's hanging from a tree."

"Shit." Paul was up on the wall and over it in seconds. Hesitating for a moment, while she wondered about the correct procedure, Tamara followed him.

oOo

She caught up with Paul between the trees. The body was dangling high above their heads, at least three feet above their grasp. Whoever it was, they were beyond help. The body was badly decayed and the smell of rotting flesh was clearly detectable now. Tamara pressed a handkerchief in front of her mouth, suddenly feeling a bit sick.

"We should call this in," she managed, not able to take her eyes off the corpse. It wasn't the first body she had seen, nor the first body in an advanced state of decomposition, but a body on display like that – it was like someone was daring them to find it.

"We should at least have another look at the house. Make sure no one is home."

"You think that is the owner?" Tamara was still staring at the body.

"Don't be daft. According to records, Owen Graeme is almost sixty. This guy is wearing jeans and a Batman tee-shirt."

"You're right," Tamara nodded. "Will you go over to the house? I think I'll need a moment."

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" Paul asked, concern in his voice.

"I am," Tamara said, not really believing herself.

Paul set off for the house. Tamara watched him go. Seeing his hand resting on his gun holster, she realized that they might well be on the same property as the killer.

Paul had no sooner vanished between the trees when Tamara heard a scream. Her first thought was of Paul, but the scream came from the shed behind her.

"Is anyone there?" Tamara called out and found her voice trembling. There was another scream and what sounded like someone pounding against the wall. Tamara pulled out her gun and approached the shed.

It was as worn as everything else. Tamara rested a hand on the doorknob. She carefully pressed it down and, to her surprise, it gave.

"Is anyone in there?" No answer. She opened the door.

At first, she saw only blackness, but the smell of sweat and urine was overwhelming, threatening to turn her stomach. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a young man, curled up in the far corner of the shed. She stumbled back, wondering what show of horrors they had walked into.

oOo

Dean barely registered the waitress refilling his cup of coffee. She was a pretty, buxom blonde, but Dean had no eyes for her today. His entire attention was focussed on the heap of papers spread out over his table in the small diner. Dean rubbed a trembling hand over his face as he put aside another newspaper. He needed sleep and the caffeine wasn't helping. But time spent sleeping was time he wasn't looking for Sam and it had been too long already. After their fight nearly three weeks ago, Sam should have contacted him by now, or should have left a message at their father's friend Phil's place where they had been staying the first week after getting to Europe. But then they'd had a huge fight, about Dean getting them into this whole mess where they had to run from the FBI and where they would have to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives and where Sam's law career was ruined before it had started, because you couldn't be a lawyer if you had a record, much less one for murder.

Sam had sped off in Phil's car and that was the last Dean had seen of him. He had managed to track Sam's movements to a friend of his from Stanford who had emigrated to England after his studies, but from there on it had been nothing but dead ends. Something was wrong, Dean could tell. Even angry, Sam would never run off and stay out of contact this long.

His instincts were confirmed when he flipped open the _Bradfield Observer_ and Sam's picture stared at him from the newspaper page. He looked terrible, weak and pale, and just looking at him made anger bubble up in Dean at whatever had done this to him. Sam was pale and had definitely lost weight since Dean had last seen him. In the photo, his eyes were unfocussed, staring at something beyond the person holding the camera. Dean had never seen such a vacant look in his brother's eyes, not after Jess had died and not after their father had died.

The picture's caption informed Dean that the Bradfield police were looking for information about Sam's identity. Dean read the brief article as fast as he could. There weren't many details about the exact circumstances of what had happened to Sam, but it was thought he had been the victim of a kidnapping. Apparently Sam had been found being held prisoner on an abandoned property in a Bradfield suburb. Dean ripped out the article, tossed a bill on the table and ran out.

oOo

"This is pretty remote," Tony commented as he and Carol climbed out of the car. "Perfect if you are looking for privacy. Perfect to hold a victim for a period of time – torture them. No one will hear the screams. Did they bury their victims on the property as well?"

Carol looked at him, surprised. "I haven't told you anything yet. Where are you getting this from?" She wasn't really irritated, more surprised. At times like these, Tony's seemed to be doing more voodoo than anything else.

"You showing me the property, there is bound to be some reason, other than it coming on the market recently. It's not a huge leap to make that this reason is related to some sort of crime. Different offenders seek out different locations to commit their crimes; I'm just working backwards here." Tony shrugged and followed Carol through the iron gates. Carol watched Tony study their surroundings, wondering what he was seeing that she wasn't as they were walking down the gravel path towards the main house.

"Two days ago, two PCs were checking out a report of the smell of something rotting coming from the property. They checked it out and found two bodies – one strung up in a tree, the other drowned in a well, weighed down with bricks." Carol pulled out some of the pictures that crime scene technicians had taken before the bodies had been removed.

"Very showy. He doesn't worry about the bodies being discovered. I bet the body could be seen from the street." He pointed to the picture of the young man who had been hung in the tree. "Do we know who they are?"

"Not yet. We are checking missing persons. Nothing in this area that matches the victims, but we are widening the search area to the entire city. It is going to take time."

"Their clothes, they look new. Never worn. Any indications that these men were homeless or working the streets?" Tony asked, once again as if he had already read her report.

"Maybe. There is quite a bit of backlog at the lab. And they aren't the only bodies CSU found," Carol said as they came around the house. From here, they could see into the vast garden with the cordoned-off pits where a body had been found. There were six of them…so far.

"Six bodies. The oldest one dates back at least forty years, but we are waiting for the anthropologist to tell us more. The recent one dates back at least ten years. We are looking into the owner of the house, Owen Graeme. He was suspected in the disappearance of a local boy in 1963. It looks like the first victim is a match to that boy as far as age is concerned. Thomas Dwyer was fourteen when he disappeared in summer 1963. The oldest body is a male between twelve and fifteen years old. We don't know where Graeme is right now. Neighbours have seen him leave with several suitcases, but no one can remember when exactly. We do know that he purchased a plane ticket to Mallorca with his credit card six weeks ago. We don't know if he actually made it there, but it is our best guess at the moment."

"Chronologically, have his victims become older or younger?" Tony asked.

"Older. At least three of the buried victims were in their early twenties."

"Then he is not a paedophile. A paedophile isn't interested in teens. He could get those off the streets, if he wanted them for sex. Rent boys. Abducting a kid from a neighbourhood like this is a whole different game. Much more difficult psychologically and logistically. There is also bound to be much more pressure from the police and the community. Even in a neighbourhood like this. How old is Graeme?"

"Fifty-eight, according to his driver's license."

"That would make him sixteen at the time, assuming he abducted that boy in 1963. If he did, it probably was his first kill. He would have learned from that and improved. It's a learning curve; they improve from victim to victim. But what is his motive? If it isn't sex, what is it?" Tony mumbled to himself as they toured the vast garden. "Do you know anything about how they died yet?"

"Not much. There isn't enough left for the pathologists. We'll need to wait for the specialist. But we do know that at least four of those six victims were partially dismembered. Their hands and feet were severed, probably with an axe."

"Prior to death or after?" Tony asked with eagerness that always made Carol think of a sponge drinking in all the gruesome facts and assembling them into a useable construct.

"Probably prior. There are also signs that they were burnt before death. More specifically, the pathologist thinks that they had their eyes burned out."

"That's a lot of torture. This guy doesn't need sex. He gets off on violence, on torture. He's a sadist." Tony turned around to face her. "Is there anything particular you wanted to show me? Because you could just have shown me the photos. I need to see where the crimes were committed in the first place. Where did he lock them up, where did he torture them? Have you looked at the basement of the house, checked for any hidden chambers?"

"Nothing. Graeme seems to have used only the ground floor; the rest of the house hasn't been touched for ages. There is no cellar, but there is a shed in the garden. That's where they found the young man."

"Young man?" Tony stared at her, bewildered.

"You must have read it in the paper, Tony. Where do you live? Under a rock?" Carol asked, surprised. The case had been all over the news, print and television. Appeals had gone out to identify the surviving victim and trace Graeme's recent movements. While nothing had come of the former, Graeme had been seen loading suitcases into his car some time ago, although the witnesses couldn't agree on when that had happened.

"I must have been busy," Tony said curtly. "What happened?"

"The officers who discovered the bodies found a young man locked in a shed in the garden. He was badly dehydrated and hadn't had any food in days, but he sustained only minor injuries, mostly from being tied up for several days."

"Has he said anything?"

"No, no one has been able to get anything out of him. He's in the psychiatric unit for the moment, under guard, but he hasn't said a word since they found him. Screams every time somebody touches him," Carol told him. She had gone to see the young man the previous day and she couldn't forget the vacant look in his eyes, as if he was still caught in some sort of nightmare he couldn't escape.

"I need to see him." Tony turned back towards the house.

"He'll still be there later, Tony. What about the shed? You said you wanted a fresh crime scene," Carol called after him, part of her angry at herself for assuming Tony had been keeping up with the press surrounding the case. In that light however, his conclusions were all the more amazing, mystifying her as usual. But she had learned to trust his profiles.

"And Carol, you are dealing with at least two offenders here. Graeme is a torturer, a sadist. He wouldn't have been able to keep a victim locked up for days without inflicting more serious injuries. He would have cut off a finger, or a toe, or burned him with a cigarette, just for starters. You didn't find any of that, did you on any of the three recent victims?" Tony called after her as he was heading back towards the car. Carol ran to catch up with him.

"We don't know what killed them – they were already dead when they were strung up and tossed into the well. But there were marks on their wrists and ankles, indicating that they had been tied up for a period of time before they died."

"I need those reports," Tony told her, still walking. "I need to know exactly what their injuries were."

"I got a copy of the preliminary report in the car." Carol finally caught up with Tony. She couldn't tell if it was her or the case that he was upset about. As a rule, Tony didn't get upset, not at a murder scene, no matter how grizzly. But this time, she had messed up. She should have pulled in Tony from the start, have him help with questioning the surviving victim. Maybe he would have gotten something out of the traumatized young man. There might not have been any obvious physical signs of torture when the doctors had examined him, but Carol was convinced he had been through something more terrible than they could imagine just yet.

oOo

Carol couldn't help but feel relieved when they finally left the property behind and stepped back out on the street. It wasn't so much the faint smell of decay that still lingered over the area, but the tentative knowledge of what had happened or what might have happened behind iron gates and stone walls. Tony was right; no one would have been able to hear them scream back there. They hadn't stood a chance.

Carol unlocked the car and fished the report out of the glove-box "Here you go, but as I said, it is preliminary."

Tony started flipping through the pages, past the gruesome images, his lips moving as he was talking to himself softly.

"This is not Graeme, or whoever buried those six bodies on the property. These are not the work of a sadist. There are some common elements, maybe it's some sort of apprentice, someone who looks up to Graeme, but can't do what he did because he just doesn't have the stomach for it. Because, he is not a sadist. How is Graeme, physically I mean? Is he fit for his age?" Tony suddenly asked, doing that complete detour that always sends Carol's mind for a spin.

"Uhm, there were no photos of him anywhere inside. I don't know."

"That's interesting. Was there anything else missing?" Tony asked, already into a new train of thought Carol could only hope to follow.

"Not sure. CSU has been over the house, looking for the primary crime scene or scenes, but they haven't turned up anything yet. But it will take weeks to process the entire property. We aren't even sure yet that we've found all the bodies. There could be more buried."

"But did you find any cameras, photo equipment, any journals?" Tony pressed on.

"No," Carol admitted. "You think he documented his crimes?"

"Almost certainly. And he will have taken those records with him. They are the most precious thing he owns. The first time, they always think that the memory of what they did will be enough, but the next time, they realize that it just won't be real enough. So they take pictures, film their victims, take their possessions as trophies. Have you found the severed hands and feet?"

"No, they weren't buried with the rest of the bodies," Carol said and shook her head.

"They won't be. He will have stored them somewhere he can see them—in a jar on the mantelpiece maybe. Something like that," Tony said. "When you find him, he will have them with him, along with all the other little things that remind him of what he did. He won't give them up, even though he knows they can give him away. He needs them to remind himself of his life's work. He'd be lost without his mementoes," Tony told her. "He desperately needs to hold on to his crimes. That's maybe why he found himself an apprentice to carry on his work. But an apprentice would be meticulous, would make sure to carry out everything the way Graeme did, but they didn't. Maybe they didn't have the stomach for it. But there is no sign of remorse at the scene. They are staged, someone wanted for these bodies to be found, wanted to shock." Tony paced on the sidewalk, talking to himself as he flipped frantically through the preliminary report. Carol leaned against the car, knowing better than to interfere in the process.

oOo

Tony Hill found the experience of riding an elevator an interesting one. Boxed up with a random group of strangers, all trying not to look at each other was a veritable tableau of the human psyche. The hospital elevator he was currently riding smelled of disinfectant and cleaning fluid and still it looked filthy. Riding with Tony was an orderly, a well-built young man in his twenties, with a patient in a wheelchair. The young man wore an orderly's uniform, but Tony noticed something off about him as soon as he stepped on the elevator. His hand was resting on the shoulder of his patient, in gesture that looked caring at first glance, but the hand was clenched a little too tight, a little too close to the patient's neck. The hairs rose on the back of Tony's neck.

"Are you going up or down?" Tony asked with false cheerfulness. He had seen that only the button for the lowest level, the level that housed the underground parking was lit. The elevator had been on its way down when Tony had stopped it on ground level.

"Down," the orderly replied gruffly, avoiding looking at Tony. His hand clenched tighter around the shoulder of the other man. The man in the wheelchair was slumped over, his longish hair hiding much of his face, but as Tony stepped closer, he recognized him as the victim from the police photographs taken after he'd been freed. Tony thought quickly – suddenly tossed into a situation where he was immediately concerned with the lives depending on his profiling skills.

"I'm Doctor Tony Hill. I work with the Bradfield police," he introduced himself and extended a hand towards the orderly.

The man didn't take it, nor did he reply. The elevator door opened to the underground parking garage and the man rapidly pushed his patient outside into the corridor. The expression on his face, however, told Tony all he needed to know – the man was scared and desperate. There was no confidence in his posture; he didn't even try to distract Tony. Instead he was clinging to the man in the wheelchair, speaking of emotional attachment. Not a killer who tortured his victims, Tony thought quickly.

"Excuse me," Tony followed the man out of the elevator. "I was sent to talk to this man by the police," Tony said hoping that the mention that police knew where he was would prevent the young man from doing anything rash.

"You'll have to come back later." The man whirled around to face Tony. He had tried to hide it before, but now that he spoke Tony could tell he was American. In this moment, the man in the wheelchair started emitted a piercing wail.

The other man seemed to forget Tony instantly. He kneeled down in front of the other man, grasping his hand and whispering softly to him. The victim didn't seem to hear him; he kept screaming.

Tony reached out and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't you think we should take him back to the hospital where they can take care of him?" he asked, hoping to connect with the would-be kidnapper over his obvious care for the victim. This man, he was concerned, worried about his victim, to the point where he was hurt by the other man's suffering. Tony thought it less and less likely that this was the man who had abducted and kept the young man prisoner.

For a moment, the man turned and looked Tony in the face. Then, before Tony could really process what was happening, he drew his fist. It connected hard with Tony's jaw and he fell backwards. His ears were ringing over the ongoing screaming. Tony was trying to scramble back to his feet when the next blow connected. His assailant was saying something, uttering words in Latin as he beat him. Silver spots were dancing across Tony's vision as he was trying to dodge the blows. He had no chance of getting in any hits himself. His attacker was far too well trained. Tony tasted blood in his mouth and down his throat when he went down for good. He felt one more blow still playing over the background of screams before he was enveloped in darkness.

oOo

"There you are, Dr. Hill," the attending physician declared as she taped a final butterfly bandage on his jaw. "I don't think there is anything broken, but we best wait for the x-rays. You were lucky you didn't loosen any teeth." Tony nodded, every motion causing a fierce lance of pain to stab through his head.

"I'm fine," he mumbled past his swollen lip.

"That's good. Normally, I would insist that you spend the night here, but if you are feeling up to it, the police want to talk to you." There was a certain disdain in her voice. "If they had done their job properly in the first place, this poor young man would never have to go through that, again."

"What happened to him? I mean after I…." Tony started, not sure how to say it. The official version was obviously that he in some heroic effort had battled the kidnapper and saved the young man's life, while in fact it had been quite the opposite. This kidnapper cared so much about his victim that he had lashed out at Tony when his victim had been threatened by an outsider – Tony in this case. If it had really been an attempted kidnapping, then there was a close relationship in play – possibly a familial relationship. Brothers?

Tony swung his legs off the exam table, sitting up. "I need to talk to that young man."

The doctor regarded him sympathetically. "They've taken him back upstairs. He was completely hysterical. Had to be sedated."

"Then I want to talk to him when he comes around," Tony said, getting up on wobbly legs, looking for his shoes. He bent down to pick them up, but if it hadn't been for the doctor, he would have landed flat on his face.

"I think you are definitely staying here for the night," she chided and led him back to the exam table. "You rest while I'll see about a bed for you."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

oOo

"Are you crazy, getting into a fight with this guy? He could have killed you. For all we know, he killed two people and tried to kidnap his third victim from the hospital. You could just have called security!" Carol chided angrily, but in a low voice, as to not wake the other patients. It was already late, way past visiting hours.

"I didn't get into a fight with him – he attacked me," Tony corrected. "Honestly, I didn't expect him to get violent." His head and jaw ached fiercely with every word, but the x-rays had shown that nothing was cracked or broken.

"Well, even you can't foresee everything!" Carol sniped, but the anger fell from her face moments later, making way to exhaustion and worry. "I'm sorry. This should never have happened. He was supposed to be under guard around the clock. No one was supposed to have access to him, except through me."

"Do you know how he got in?" Tony asked, referring to the would-be kidnapper.

"Fake pass, stolen uniform. The kidnapper stole some files as well. The hospital is still trying to work out which ones exactly are missing," Carol said and sighed. "Is there anything else you noticed about him? I know you have given your statement and given a description, but is there anything about his behaviour that could tell us something more about him?"

"For one, I don't think he killed those men. He is too young to have killed the victims buried in Graeme's yard anyways, but I don't think he murdered the other two men either."

"Why not?

"He's got strength and some form of combat training, maybe military, and he isn't afraid to use it, but he only attacked me because he perceived me as a threat. I was a threat to the man he may or may not have been trying to kidnap. He was actually passive up until the point when I touched the victim. This suggests he's feeling possessive towards him. He's probably like that in all his relationships. If he's involved with a woman, he'll be jealous of every other man in her life and if he thinks she is unfaithful, he lashes out. Violently."

"So you suggest we check domestic complaints? Focus on American expats?"

"Maybe. But I think the fastest way to find him is to identify the man he was trying to kidnap. I got the impression they share a close bond, familial even. I think they might be brothers. That's why I need to talk to the victim," Tony insisted. Right now he didn't feel like doing anything that would involve moving his head, but his mind wouldn't let go of what had happened.

"I'll see what I can do," Carol promised and headed for the door. But then she halted and turned around. "There is something else." She pulled an object out of her bag. It was a leather-bound diary, currently in an evidence bag. "Your attacker got away with some files, but he dropped this." She handed the book to him. It was thick, bound in darkened and worn leather.

"I had a look at it, but I can't make heads or tails of it. It's some sort of diary, but it doesn't make any sense. Not to me at least."

Tony moved to open the evidence bag. "Can I?"

"Sure. It's been processed for prints, but none have come back to anyone. I've sent them off to Interpol and the FBI, but even if they get a hit, they'll take their time to get back to us."

Tony pulled the book out of its bag and flipped it open.

oOo

Tony approached the young man carefully. He was slumped in bed, lying sidewise. His body was perfectly still, and if it hadn't been for his wide-open eyes, Tony would have thought he was sleeping.

He stepped a few feet towards the bed. As promised, Carol had arranged for him to meet with the surviving victim. He could tell she wasn't holding high hopes that anything would come of it, but Tony had a theory about how he might reach the young man.

"Hello. My name is Tony Hill. I've come to talk to you," he spoke the words clearly, but as expected got no reaction. He walked over to the bed, making sure to stomp and create vibrations that could be felt by someone lying in bed. The young man curled up into a tight ball, confirming one of Tony's suspicions. While he didn't seem to be able or willing to react to sound or sight, he did react to touch. Tony reached out and grabbed the young man's hand.

There was a symbol drawn on the back of the hand, in a thick line of black ink. Tony pulled out his note pad and copied the symbol, determined to research it later. It was just one more element in the case that didn't seem to fit.

The man promptly started screaming when Tony touched him, trying to pull away from Tony. Tony wasn't deterred, but turned the hand palm up and started tracing letters on it.

H-E-L-L-O, he traced and waited. It took a moment, but the man calmed down.

I-A-M-T-O-N-Y, he traced next. Y-O-U-?

"Sam." The man whispered softly, almost inaudibly. If Tony was right, Sam wasn't able to hear his own voice, which would make it difficult for him to speak. "Where's my brother?"

The words were spoken softly, but with clarity, telling Tony that Sam had not always been deaf. He had learned to speak as a hearing child--a hearing child who had grown up in the United States. They would need a linguistics expert to tell more precisely where he'd grown up.

"Where's Dean?" Sam repeated, louder this time.

I-A-M-L-O-O-K-I-N-G-F-O-R-H-I-M Tony traced in response. Now they had a name. Only a first name, but it was a start.

A puzzled expression settled on Sam's face. His expression, which had been frozen in terror until now, moved to something akin to concern and worry.

"Is Dean all right?" Sam asked, his voice pleading.

I-H-O-P-E Tony replied, sincerely hoping that he would find the poor young man's family. He was now convinced that while trying to kidnap Sam, Dean had nothing to do with the original abduction.

Something had happened between the brothers that had gone terribly out of hand and ended up with one of them imprisoned and left to starve to death.

oOo

Dean slumped tiredly against the wall of his new shelter. Out of money and fake credit cards, he had decided to set up shop right at the scene of the crime. Normally, he would have been too prudent to go directly into the serpent's lair so to speak, but he was desperate. He had seen Sam at the hospital and he couldn't bear the thought of his brother staying in the care of strangers any longer. He wasn't sure what he would have done with Sam had his breakout succeeded. Sam was in no condition to go on a hunt, but at least he would have been with someone he knew. Dean couldn't forget how Sam hadn't relaxed until he'd somehow realized that it was Dean who was with him.

While he had been forced to leave Sam behind at the hospital to avoid being arrested himself, which would have put a serious crimp into his hunt, Dean had managed to steal a bunch of patient files, including Sam's. In his hurry, he had grabbed the whole pile as it was sitting unattended, but he quickly discarded everything that wasn't of interest to him. Dean had never been adept with the medical vocabulary. His medical knowledge, while considerable, was more concerned with the practical aspects of patching up himself or family members after encounters gone wrong.

He could tell, to his relief, that Sam hadn't suffered any serious physical injuries, but the reports from the psychologists were more jarring. Sam had shown himself to be completely unreachable. He reacted to touch and pain, but not to any other form of sensory stimulation.

Worse than the psychologist's failure to reach Sam was Dean's own failure. His brother's scream when he'd taken his hand for the first time in the hospital was still echoing in his mind. Eventually Sam had calmed down, but he had not tried to communicate with Dean in any way. Dean liked to think so, but he had no idea if Sam had even been aware of his presence. Worse even, he had lost his father's diary, their most precious possession, when he had gone to break out Sam. There had been an incantation he had wanted to try. It hadn't worked and in the struggle, he had lost it. He had only noticed when he'd stopped at a gas station to wash the blood from his face and hands, and by then it had been too late to go back.

The hospital had done numerous tests on Sam, the names of most Dean could hardly pronounce, but he understood that they had not found any damage to his brain or sensory nerves. While he appeared blind and deaf, there was no physical cause. The doctors' conclusions gave Dean hope. If there was some sort of spell or curse at work, Dean was going to find out and find out how to break it.

Dodging the police patrols, Dean had broken into the Graeme estate. After a tour of the grounds that had revealed nothing, Dean had entered the main house. There, the EMF meter had really gone off. Dean had zeroed in on one of the rooms on the first floor and had set up camp there. He didn't have much. He had used up the last of his money, save for an iron reserve, to purchase a sleeping bag, a torch, two knives, a can of gasoline, a bunch of candles and a case of rock salt. His plan was simple. Find and burn all the bodies found or buried on the Graeme estate and hope that would do the trick and break whatever hold these spirits had over Sam. He had read his father's journal from front to back several times in the weeks he had searched for his brother, but had discovered nothing that could explain Sam's condition.

His mission was complicated by the presence of two uniformed officers sitting on the property and the fact that two bodies had already been transported away to the morgue, effectively out of his reach. The rest of the remains were still being excavated. Dean had watched the property for several hours during the day and had waited until the technicians and experts had abandoned their work for the day. All that was left was the squad car parked in the cul-de-sac at the back end of which the Graeme estate was located.

Dean had a last look out the window before he collected the recently purchased can of gasoline, his trusty lighter and two family-sized packets of salt. The night was cold and cloudy, making any fire visible over quite a distance. Dean blew out the candles and headed out.

oOo

"You shouldn't be back at work already." Carol looked out of the window of her office as she spoke to Tony. "At least stick to lectures for a couple of days."

"You know I can't. Not until I've figured this out. You need my help with this case."

"You are right. I do need your help. Graeme is dead. They found him dead in his car at the airport. From the looks of it, he's been dead for several weeks. You were right about the journals. He had them with him. He's written down everything, every last sick detail of what he did to his victims."

"How many were there?"

"Nine that he wrote about. But he only claimed the older bodies. Nothing about the more recent murders."

"He didn't do it. If he had, he would have detailed everything in his journals, to relive it later. He needs that. You are looking for a second killer."

"I know. Graeme has been dead for weeks. He couldn't have abducted the others. But that's not all. The estate was broken into last night. They burned all the remains we hadn't removed yet."

"Burning of remains, protective sigils," Tony mumbled to himself. "Did you find any graffiti or other drawings at the scene?" Tony asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. There should be some photos of that in there as well." Carol sighed. "This is the last thing we needed. Now it is going to take us weeks, if we are lucky, to get anything from those remains." Carol started pacing. She'd had way too much caffeine already and it was only 11 a.m. and she still had a press conference to deal with in the afternoon.

"I don't think that was the point – to obscure crimes. I'm not sure any of the motives of arson we know from psychological theory apply in this case." Tony walked over to the board and pulled a marker from Carol's desk. Carol watched as he started scribbling.

Fire.

Protection.

Bodies.

Burning.

Cleansing.

Salt?

Symbolism.

Paranoia.

Evil.

He circled the words EVIL and PROTECTION several times.

"What do you think we are dealing with?" Carol asked, frowning, suddenly looking much less forward to that press conference. This was not looking good.

"Someone with a very strong belief in evil. The journal is almost a catalogue of his or her beliefs."

"A Satanist?" Carol asked. Not much surprised her anymore, but she had always read that satanistic cults were an urban myth and certainly not a reality in Bradfield. It definitely wasn't a reality she wanted to be telling the press about.

"The opposite. He believes in the Devil and evil spirits, but he is trying to protect himself and others from them. He believes that the victims will come back as malevolent spirits. That's why he burned their remains. I bet he poured salt on them before lighting the fires. It's a ritualistic behaviour."

"So he is delusional?" Carol asked the rhetorical question.

"Yes. He most likely lives completely in his own world. Fighting what he perceives as evil – that's the center of his entire existence. There is nothing else that matters to him. He'll be living a very simple life, reduced to his delusions. He sees himself as a soldier, in a war against supernatural evil. He exists at the margins of society, without friends or a steady job. It's very well possible that he lives on the streets or in his car."

"You think that description fits the man who beat you up at the hospital?" Carol asked. It was a neat profile, but they knew so little about their only suspect that it was hard to tell if he had anything in common with it.

"The man he tried to kidnap is his brother. They must share a very close bond, possibly sharing the same delusions."

Carol stared at Tony. She was used to intuitive leaps, but this went far beyond deduction and application of theories. "Don't tell me you got through to him somehow and neglected to mention this?" Carol felt like she was trapped in an investigative nightmare. A serial murder case that had looked so simple on the surface, where the main problem seemed to have been to locate the known perpetrator, had turned into a convoluted mess complete with two police blunders she was bound to end up taking the heat for.

"I'm sorry," Tony said and sighed. "This case….I can't figure out how it all goes together. If he is living in this kind of delusional belief system, I don't see him capable..."

The fax machine beeped and started spitting out pages. Carol went to pick up the cover sheet as the rest of the pages were still being printed.

"It's the FBI. When you mentioned the American accents, I sent out the prints that were lifted from the diary. Their names are Sam and Dean Winchester and they are both wanted for murder in several states." Carol picked up the rest of the pages, scanning through the tiny typeface detailing the numerous charges and warrants issued against Sam and Dean Winchester. Tony seemed to have been on the money about Dean. He wasn't only thought to be guilty of multiple murders, including the torture of a young woman, but also several counts of vandalism and tampering with corpses, mainly lighting them on fire. From the looks of it, Tony had been wrong about how dangerous the men they were dealing with were. Dean Winchester was a killer, a violent psychopath if the FBI's charges were anything to go by. With his record, she didn't need a psychiatrist to tell her that they were dealing with a very dangerous man and had been lucky no one else had been hurt.

Carol handed the pages to Tony. Not waiting for him to read she asked: "Why didn't you tell me sooner that they were brothers?"

"Sam told me they were, but I wasn't sure he was telling the truth. I thought it was possible that he was lying to protect a man he is dependant on," Tony said and went on to study the fax.

"It doesn't make any sense. A man with the kind of delusions Dean Winchester appears to suffer wouldn't commit these kinds of crimes. Not when he is convinced that his victims are coming back to haunt him. But maybe he can't stop?" Tony asked, but Carol knew better than to try and answer.

"What if there is something else, some other element to his delusions that is pushing him to kill. Think, Tony, think," Tony was saying to himself as if he could persuade his brain to come up with an answer.

"Dean Winchester believes in evil." Tony circled the word on the white board again several times. "Maybe he believes his victims were evil, possessed maybe, demons even. Remember, all this is real to him. I need to talk to Sam again."

"Do you think he will give up his brother?"

"I doubt it. They are too close and he is been enveloped in his brother's fantasy world for almost two years. It says here that his girlfriend died under mysterious circumstances in a fire eighteen months ago and that he has been travelling with his brother since then. But I think deep down Sam knows his brother is sick. I think Sam is the one who is still in touch with reality." Tony tossed the fax on the table.

oOo

Sam was in exactly the same position Tony had found him the last time – motionless in the bed, lying on his side, gaze focused on something only he could see.

Tony stomped on the floor, trying to alert Sam to his presence. Sam did react. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees, drawn up to his chest. Tony was pleased to notice the change since his last visit. He had asked the doctor in charge of Sam's care to try to communicate with him the same way he had and to try to avoid scaring him with sudden physical contact. The staff normally didn't have time, but it was obvious that the human contact had done Sam good.

Tony walked up to Sam, taking his hand again like the last time they had met. Sam shrank back, but seemed to know what was coming.

Tony traced the letters of his name into Sam's palm. Sam seemed to relax a bit.

"Dean?" He asked quietly.

L-O-O-K-I-N-G–F-O-R-H-I-M--N-E-E-D-Y-O-U-R-H-E-L-P

Tony pulled out a black marker that he had purchased on his way to the hospital. The nurses had obviously tried to wash away the drawing, but the outline was still visible. Tony uncapped the marker and retraced the contours of the sigil in black waterproof ink.

T-R-U-S-T-M-E

Sam nodded his head a tiny fraction. Playing into his belief system was the only way Tony could think of for gaining Sam's trust. He needed Sam to assume that he believed the same things that Sam and Dean believed in.

"Is Dean all right?" Sam whispered. "I keep seeing him, on the ceiling, like Jess." Sam's voice was almost inaudible and he was obviously frightened.

O-N-L-Y-I-N-Y-O-U-R-M-I-N-D Tony confronted Sam, counting on that deep down the young man knew his brother's delusions for what they were.

Sam's face fell. "I know. But I can't look away."

Tony squeezed his hand. H-E-L-P-M-E-F-I-N-D-D-E-A-N

Sam didn't react.

H-E-N-E-E-D-S-Y-O-U-R-H-E-L-P Tony tried again.

"I don't know where he is right now, but I know where the thing is that he will be hunting. They are afraid of fire; promise me you will tell him."

Tony squeezed Sam's hand as to indicate that he agreed. W-H-E-R-E-?

Sam gave Tony the address. It was the address of the Graeme estate.

oOo

Tony had followed Sam's instructions precisely. The police presence guarding the Graeme property had been increased, but by coming through the back of the property that bordered on a very densely wooded area, he still managed to enter the house undetected. He couldn't use a torch for fear of the light being detected from the officers in the street.

If he'd asked Carol, he would have been able to access the property officially, but Tony needed answers to some questions he wasn't ready to share with Carol yet. The more entrenched he became in the case and the dynamic between the two brothers, the more doubts rose in his mind. On paper, Dean Winchester looked like a very dangerous man, a psychopath by all accounts. He had beaten up Tony over the slightest provocation, and would probably have seriously injured him in the process had the security guard not intervened, but still Tony didn't believe that Dean had committed all the crimes he had been accused of. Unlike with any other offender, he felt himself drawn into the world of Sam and Dean Winchester. He had read every page of the diary, studied the drawings and read the newspaper cutouts. The diary was an accumulation of encounters with unearthly beings – demons, angry spirits, ghosts and all manner of other creatures. It was a catalogue of Dean's delusions..or so it appeared. It was extremely elaborate. Tony had seen many patients, but he had never seen any delusion as complex as this. Dozens of newspaper cuttings had been inserted in the diary with hand-written notations. Most of the cuttings dealt with crime of some sort – murders and missing persons. But it was no scrapbook like Tony had ever seen it. The notations made on the articles were that of an investigator. There were lists of questions, suspects and leads, written as if a person had been trying to solve these crimes, within the frame of reference of a very complex delusion. The more Tony had read the diary, the more he was convinced that while Dean Winchester was no doubt very ill, he probably wasn't a murderer.

Tony found what he was looking for on the second floor, in a large walk-in wardrobe. The doors were covered with symbols drawn in black marker, some Tony recognized from the diary, others unfamiliar. Inside the wardrobe, someone had set up camp. There was a sleeping bag, food wrappers, candles and, most curiously, five or six family sized packets of rock salt. The candles were still lit, their flames flickering in a faint draft. The candles were burnt down fairly far, but Tony had seen no sign that there was anyone else in the house or the property.

There was a sudden draft of cold air. Tony whirled around, switching on his torch, heedless of the police patrols outside. There was nothing. Just an ordinary room. Still, Tony was starting to feel it had been a bad idea to come out here without any back-up. He pulled out his cell phone and was about to start dialling when a gust of icy air swept over him, blowing out the candles. Tony found himself shivering as he dialled Carol's number with trembling fingers. A scream made him stop mid-way.

Tony listened in silence, but everything was quiet now. Then, suddenly, something brushed across his back. Tony whirled around, and came face to face with a group of shadowy figures. They were rail-thin, humanoid shapes. They looked like something out of the Winchester diary. Tony screamed, but the figures only started closing in on him. Emaciated arms and bony fingers outstretched, they came towards him. Tony tried to run, but they already had him in their grasp. Their bony hands held his arms in a vice-grip. Tony felt himself being dragged, dragged towards the wardrobe. They tossed him inside. Tony crashed to the floor, his fall only a little cushioned by the sleeping bag left behind on the floor. The wardrobe door flew shut behind him with a slap. For a moment, Tony stayed still, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing happened. Everything was perfectly quiet. Letting out a nervous laugh, Tony got to his feet. He pushed against the door, but it wouldn't move. Tony pressed harder, but it seemed to be shut solid and wouldn't budge even when Tony leaned his full weight against it. Frustrated, he sank back on his heels, willing himself to think. He'd seen a lighter somewhere around here. Tony felt in the darkness, but he couldn't even see his own hands, much less anything on the floor in front of him.

Tony coughed. It had to be his imagination, but the air was suddenly getting thicker and it was getting harder to breathe. It was nothing he could smell, but it felt like the oxygen was being sucked out of the air. Tony felt around the edges of the door, trying to pry it open somehow, but it didn't even close airtight. There was no way he could suffocate inside the wardrobe.

Panting for breath, Tony forced himself to stay still to conserve oxygen. He was starting to feel light-headed and a rushing sound filled his ears. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get air inside his lungs. It was as if the air inside the wardrobe had turned into a syrupy liquid, clogging his nose and mouth. Tony fell to his hands and knees, just before his limbs gave out under him. He hit the floor face forwards. He'd landed on something and with the last of his strength he reached out and his numb fingers closed around a lighter.

They are afraid of fire. Sam had said. Pulling together every bit of strength he had left, he managed to flick on the lighter. It was as if some unseen mechanism had been kicked into reverse. Suddenly, he could breathe again. Tony drew in big gulps if oxygen until the light-headedness subsided and he felt capable of getting to his feet again.

The door that had refused to budge earlier opened without a hitch now and Tony looked out from his prison into the larger room.

They were still there. Backed against the wall, but they were still there, watching him with glowing eyes. There was a rasping sound, as if they were laughing. And then they starting coming closer.

Fire.

Tony scrambled back. The lighter alone wouldn't be enough to hold them off. He'd quickly grabbed a candle, lit it and placed it on the floor between him and the creatures. Tony thought they seemed to be slowing down, but they were still coming, He ducked back to light a second candle and a third, but it was no use. He was backed against the wardrobe. Tony was running out of options fast when something suddenly burst through the window, shattering the glass. It looked like a ball of fire, at first. A sort of Molotov cocktail Tony realized belatedly. The creatures were backing away from the fire that was quickly starting to spread from an armchair that had caught fire over to the other furniture. Thick fumes were starting to fill the room. Tony ran for the window. He took off his jacket and wrapped his right forearm in it, knocking out the remaining shards of glass stuck in the window's frame. Tony gauged the distance to the ground. He was on the first floor. It would be an uncomfortable landing, but not hard enough the shatter every bone in his lower body. Tony shot a last look back at the spreading fire. The furniture was fully engulfed in flames by now. The creatures were still there, backed against the wall, behind a trench of fire.

"What are you waiting for? Jump already," a voice speaking in an American accent called from the garden below. Tony could see a figure outside, partially hidden in the shrubbery. In the darkness it was difficult to tell, but he looked like the man who had beaten him up in the hospital--Dean Winchester.

"Come on. Do you want to die in there?"

Tony most certainly didn't want to, so he climbed onto the ledge and, taking a deep breath of fresh air, he jumped.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

oOo

"Are you all right?"

Dean Winchester asked as he was helping Tony to his feet.

"I think so," Tony replied. "Physically at least. I can't say the same for my mind," he mumbled, giddy from the adrenaline rush. He was losing his mind, Tony was sure of it as he watched the flames dancing in the window he'd just jumped from. A few seconds later and he'd have burned to death, if the smoke that was now billowing in thick clouds from the broken window hadn't suffocated him first.

Tony was shaken from his daze by the sound of sirens in the distance. Dean was tugging at his arm.

"What are you waiting for? Do you want to be here when the police arrive?"

Tony just stared at him. For a moment he had completely forgotten where he was and whom he was with, for that matter. Being found in the company of a wanted murderer wasn't high on his list of things to do.

"Well, do whatever you want. But don't forget, I saved your ass." Dean started running. Tony stared after him for a moment, and then started running as well, following Dean deeper into Graeme's garden.

The thicket of plants was far denser than Tony remembered. In the darkness, he stumbled over protruding roots and branches slapped into his face as he tried not to lose track of Dean Winchester. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally reached the back wall fencing in the property. Dean climbed over with ease, while Tony struggled to follow him, already seriously out of breath from the run. He eventually made it over the wall, landing hard on the other side and promptly twisting his ankle. It was ironic; he had managed to jump from a first floor window without injury, but not from a four-foot wall.

Limping painfully, Tony continued on the other side, no longer able to see Dean. He reached the street with difficulty. In the yellow glow of a lone streetlight, Tony bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs as he fought to catch his breath. He was tempted to simply sit down on the pavement, his lungs and muscles burning from the strain. A car horn honked near him and Tony looked up. A few meters down the street stood a yellow station wagon. He couldn't see the driver very well, but it looked like Dean. Tony limped his way over to the car. Dean threw open the passenger door and Tony climbed in, a small voice in the back of his head wondering what on earth he was doing, getting into a car with a potential psychopath. He was less and less convinced that the man was guilty of more than being over-protective of his brother, but he was still risking his neck on the vague notion that whatever creatures he had seen at the Graeme house had been real after all and not a product of some highly improbable folie a deux.

As soon as Tony was in the car, Dean wordlessly pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street.

oOo

Tony's hands trembled as he tried to insert the key into the lock of his flat. Dean Winchester stood behind him, throwing suspicious glances down the corridor as if he was expecting an entire police platoon to show up in the hallway.

"There we are." Tony finally managed to unlock the door. Dean pushed his way past him, into the flat. Tony followed him.

"Make yourself at home," he told Dean as he switched on the light. Tony limped into the kitchen, making his way to the freezer. He pulled out a packet of frozen peas, pulled two beers from the fridge and went back to the living room.

Dean was sitting in one of the armchairs. His posture was tense, ready for a fight-or-flight response at any moment. Tony handed him one of the beer cans before slumping down in the other armchair. He eased off his left shoe, inspected his swollen ankle and placed the packet of peas strategically over the area. He winced at the contact with the icy cold plastic and turned his attention back to Dean.

"So, aside from me having obviously lost my mind, is there any reason I shouldn't call the police right now?" he asked Dean, suddenly feeling very tired in the wake of the adrenaline rush.

"I saved your life. That should count for something," Dean said, opening his beer. His posture relaxed a little as he took a long sip from the can. He looked tired, like he hadn't had any food or sleep in days and hadn't had a shower in even longer. "You said you worked for the police?"

"I'm a psychiatric consultant. I work with the police on certain cases," Tony explained.

"Can you get me to see my brother?" Dean asked. The look in his eyes told Tony that he wasn't asking lightly.

"Not officially. The police are looking for you." Tony paused. "I must be mad for bringing you here." He shook his head. "I guess it's because I need to know what really happened…to your brother and to the other two young men."

"Are you sure you want to know? You might not like the answer," Dean said, putting his beer down on the couch table.

Tony nodded.

"The truth. I don't know. Not yet." Dean shrugged. Tony watched him carefully, trying to gauge if Dean was telling the truth. He had the feeling that the other man was holding back, but he wasn't sure whether it was because he was inherently paranoid and unable to trust anyone outside who wasn't part of his network of beliefs or because he wanted to protect his brother.

"Okay," Tony responded, drawing out the word. "Do you want to at least take a shower?"

Dean nodded.

oOo

Tony and Sam made it past the police guards with a smile. Tony was well known in the department and it was probably common knowledge that he was working on this rather sensational case with the Bradfield Police Department.

The two police guards let him pass and Tony wheeled Sam outside, into the large park that sprawled behind the hospital. Sam had been apprehensive when Tony had first communicated to him that they were going outside, but when Tony had told him that they were going to meet with Dean, Sam had co-operated willingly. Tony had managed to talk Dean into having some food after his shower, but as it had started to dawn outside, Dean had grown restless. He'd watched the news for a while, as the events of the night had made the early morning news. There had been no mention of Dean or Tony for that matter, but still Dean had bid him good-bye and left, but not before agreeing to meet at the hospital the next day to see Sam.

They met Dean at the table at the far end, near the fence that enclosed the park. Dean didn't look like he had slept since the last time they had met, but Tony didn't ask. The less he knew the better. He was already bound to be in a world of trouble when Carol found out he had know where to find Dean Winchester and he met with him without informing the police. He still wasn't convinced that Dean was sane, but he couldn't forget what he had seen the previous night and how Dean had saved his life without hesitation. If there was a chance that he could help Sam by helping Dean to do whatever he believed needed to be done, Tony was ready to do it, never mind the professional consequences. So often in his line of work, he only entered the picture after lives had been lost or ruined by incredible acts of violence. This time, he had a chance to save a life. Possibly two lives, since he didn't think Dean would survive if his brother didn't recover.

Tony squeezed Sam's hand, letting him know that Dean was now there. Dean enveloped his brother in a hug. At first Sam remained stiff in the older man's grip, but then he softened and returned the gesture.

"Dean, is that really you?" Tony could hear Sam whisper in a hoarse voice.

"You bet, dude," Dean replied, and then he took Sam's hand to communicate his answer. Tony walked away a few meters, willing to give the brothers some time alone. He couldn't stay out with Sam for too long without arising suspicion, but he had promised Dean he would let him meet Sam.

Tony's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, noting the caller ID with a wince. It was Carol. She had been calling him all day, but he had been dodging her calls. Now it was time to face the music.

He pressed the button to accept the call.

"Carol, listen…," Tony began, but Carol cut him off almost immediately.

"Tony, where have you been? You haven't answered your mobile all day. There has been a new development. The Graeme house burned down last night and the fire investigators suspect it was arson. I know you have your responsibilities at the university, but I need you on this one. The case is really starting to get out of hand. The press is all over it, accusing us of incompetence, and for once, I'm starting to think that they are right."

"Carol, listen. I know what happened. I was there last night," Tony explained, bracing himself for the storm of angry words that were soon to follow.

"You were? What on earth were you doing there?" Carol responded, more surprised than angry.

"I was looking for Dean Winchester," Tony replied evenly, appeasing his conscience with the fact that this was at least technically true.

"Tony…." Carol started, but broke off. "Did you find him?"

"No," Tony lied. "I think he's been hiding at the house, but he was gone when I got there."

"And you were there when the fire started? How did that happen?"

"I don't know. Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window."

"Are you all right?" Carol asked, sounding concerned.

"I'm fine. Twisted my ankle, but yes, I'm fine."

"Then why didn't you wait for the police?" Carol asked, her tone still worried, but shifting towards accusatory. Carol wasn't stupid. Tony was sure that she could tell that he wasn't entirely truthful with her.

That was an interesting question Tony couldn't quite answer himself. He had no idea why he had taken off with Dean and he didn't relish trying to explain the situation to Carol. "Anyways," Tony changed the subject. "I'm at the hospital with Sam. I had my phone turned off. I'm trying to find out if he knows anything about where his brother might be hiding."

"Good luck," Carol responded. "I want you back at the station as soon as possible. And I want to know everything that happened last night." It sounded like a threat to Tony. He knew he was in deep trouble. Lying probably made it worse, since Carol was bound to find out sooner or later, although whether she would believe the truth was another matter entirely. Tony wasn't sure he believed it and he had seen it with his own eyes.

"I'll see you there." Before Carol could answer, Tony pressed the button to end the call and put the phone back into his pocket. He walked back over to Dean, who appeared to be totally immersed in the silent conversation with his brother.

"Dean." Dean whirled around, looking as if he was ready to punch Tony again. "I didn't tell the police about you, but they will be looking for you now more than ever. You need to get out of Bradfield."

"I can't leave Sam here. I told you, I have to finish this."

"You can't go back to the house. The police slipped up twice; they won't slip up a third time."

I'm pretty good at getting past security."

"It's too dangerous. What if you are arrested? The police know you are wanted back in the US. Even if the murder charges don't stick, the FBI will be sure to file for extradition."

Dean nodded, the expression on his face grave. "I'm not leaving, Sam here. I don't know what I'll have to do, but I will keep looking, no matter how long it takes. Just take care of Sam until I'm back."

Tony nodded. "Take this. You'll need it." Tony handed the journal back to Dean.

Dean shot him a questioning look.

"I don't understand half of it, but I know it means a lot to you." Dean hugged Sam a last time, then turned to leave.

"There is something else," Tony called after him. He hadn't been sure if he should tell Dean about his theory, sure it would spur him into further action. "The police have found Graeme. He's dead, but they found a journal in his car. He's recorded everything in there, including where he buried his victims."

"There are more?" Dean asked, as if he could read Tony's mind.

"Yes, there are three more, buried on the property." Tony pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Dean. "I made notes about their location."

"Thank you. I know you don't believe in the supernatural and you probably think I'm some sort of psychopathic killer, still, I appreciate the help." Dean pocketed the note and a moment later, he'd climbed over the fence and disappeared.

oOo

Dean floored the accelerator of his stolen Volvo as he sped away from the Graeme estate into the nightly city. The sirens were howling in the distance, the patrolling officers having obviously sent for reinforcements as soon as they had detected his handiwork. It had been pretty hard to break into the estate this time, especially since he couldn't use his preferred method of going in through the front door with a false ID because his picture was bound to have been all over the news by now. Officers had been patrolling the large grounds themselves, the increase in security certainly a consequence of the events of the previous night, but after watching them for two hours, he had figured out their pattern and had broken in with relative ease. He'd handled tougher security. Dean pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket that was open around the clock. He made sure to park in a remote corner. He got out of the car and walked over to the public payphone. Inserting the last of his coins, he dialled Tony's number.

The phone rang, once, twice, a third them, and then someone answered.

"Hello." The voice was utterly familiar, but it was the last thing Dean had expected to hear. Relief flooded him even before he asked the next questions.

"Sam?"

"You bet, dude."

"Man, I can't tell you….are you okay?"

"Yeah, it happened all suddenly. Everything was dark, and then I was in this place…"

"What place?" Dean asked, a bit alarmed.

"I think it's a hospital."

"Dude, it's where you've been all of last week. Don't you remember?" Dean asked, not certain he really wanted Sam to recall anything about the experience. His own memories were weighing heavily enough on him without any new nightmares haunting Sam.

"I'm not sure. I can remember some things, but most of it is a big black blur...," Sam replied and Dean believed him, mostly because he really wanted and needed to.

"Listen, I can't come to get you. But….how did you get Tony's phone anyways?" Dean suddenly realized that he had dialled Tony's number when Sam had answered.

"Found it in the nightstand." Sam told him. "I'd love to break out of here, but I have no idea where I am."

"Bradfield. You remember?"

"Yes, I remember checking out a case there, but I don't recall getting there."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. The less Sam recalled about what had happened the better.

"Listen, I have to go. There is a nurse coming and I'm pretty sure they don't allow cell phones in here. I'll meet you at the usual place," Sam said. Before Dean could reply, the connection was terminated. Dean hung up. He had to find a copy of the yellow pages, or whatever they called it in this country. Meet at the first motel listed, under a false name - that was their routine in case they ever got separated. Like now.

oOo

Sam knocked on the door of room twelve of the Traveller's Motel.

"Dean, it's me," he called out.

His flight from the hospital had taken longer than he'd expected. His first attempt had been cut short when he'd discovered that he was apparently under police guard, something which Dean had neglected to mention, but which might explain why Dean wouldn't come in person. But the police didn't seem to consider Sam to be the bad guy, and, apparently surprised at his recovery, one of them had run off to find a pay phone while the other had run to find a doctor, leaving Sam to wonder just what had happened to him. Dean had tried to hide it, but Sam could tell his brother had been worried when they'd spoken on the phone. Physically speaking, Sam didn't feel too bad and except for a few bruises, he could find no injuries on himself.

When both of the police officers had been distracted, he'd made a run for it.

The door opened a fraction of an inch. Dean peered through the crack, opening the door fully when he saw Sam.

"Come in."

Sam slipped inside and was immediately caught in a hug.

"Uhm, Dean…," Sam started. Dean seemed to realize what he was doing and released him. Sam studied the expression on Dean's face. The way he was looking at him worried Sam.

Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him to the bed farthest from the door. "Sit down."

"I'm okay, Dean, really," Sam insisted, but still sat down. Dean tossed a sweater over to him. "Put that on."

Dean watched him carefully as Sam put on the sweater. Sam was starting to feel a little bit freaked out by Dean's behaviour. It wasn't like he was mortally wounded, or anything like that.

"Dean, what is going on?" Sam asked. He was starting to get a really bad feeling. Whatever had happened, and he couldn't remember, it had to be bad.

"Just glad to have you back."

"I gathered that." Sam paused. "You wouldn't happen to have any food lying around?" For the first time since his arrival, Sam had a good look at the room. It was one of the less tasteful motel rooms he'd stayed in, but at least it looked fairly clean. Tired, he scooted back and leaned against the bed's headboard.

"Food?" Dean asked as if Sam had just asked for a pink tutu.

"You know. The stuff you eat?"

"Oh, yeah. I think I saw a vending machine outside. I'll get you something." Dean headed for the door.

"I'll take a shower in the meantime." Sam called out to him. Dean stopped and for a moment Sam thought he was going to turn around and say something, but Dean simply disappeared out the door.

oOo

After treating all the entrances with salt and tracing an additional circle with salt and holy water around Sam's bed, Dean settled down on his own bed. He was beyond exhausted, but his mind refused to let him rest. He had once told Sam that he wasn't afraid of the things they hunted, but it wasn't true. These creatures, whatever they had been, had scared the hell out of him. He could only hope that burning the bodies had gotten rid of them for good.

Dean hated asking for help, but he'd called their father's friend, Phil, again and asked if they could lay low for a while at his place. It wasn't just Sam who needed to rest, even though Dean liked to tell himself that, but he was in dire need of food and rest, two things he had been hardly able to afford during the previous weeks.

There had just been enough cash in the stolen wallet to pay their room for one night and Dean hadn't dared to use any of the credit cards, afraid of putting the police on their trail. They were going to need to ditch Tony's mobile, too, just in case the police were tracing it. Sam was going to ask questions about what happened eventually. While Dean wouldn't deny him the right to know, he was determined not to add any more nightmare fodder to Sam's mind.

Dean lowered his head on the pillow and cast a last look at Sam before switching off the light. It was already dawn outside, but they had earned themselves a few hours of respite.

To be concluded in the epilogue


	4. Chapter 4

Dean had been scrutinizing the passing scenery closely for three hours when his brother suddenly pulled over, onto the shoulder of the motorway.

"Sam! Is something wrong?" Dean turned, alarmed, still unable to keep the concern for his brother at bay. He had barely slept the past night, despite his exhaustion. Every noise, however small had woken him from dreams he couldn't recall but that left cold fear in the pit of his stomach. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to have slept without incident and had appeared fairly well rested when Dean had finally given up on sleep around noon. Having hardly any belongings to take with them, they had quickly packed up and soon Bradfield had been behind them.

Their roles had reversed so quickly, and suddenly Sam was the one worrying about Dean. He'd insisted on driving so that Dean could get some rest and had insisted on spending part of their meagre funds on a breakfast that didn't consist of a cup of coffee from a motel vending machine. Part of Dean longed to just let go, to go to sleep without worrying, but the hunter and older brother in him were still wary of Sam's quick recovery. He could see Sam smile, hear him joke, but he knew his brother to well to be distracted from the real issue standing between them. Sam hadn't asked any questions, but Dean hadn't missed the many unspoken invitations to talk about what had happened while they had been apart. Dean wouldn't have any of it. Sam might not be happy not knowing, but anything was better than the alternative. He could live with Sam being mad at him for a few days, but he wasn't sure he could put up with any more nightmares. Maybe their flight from the US had been a blessing in disguise. It was probably the closest Sam would ever get to a fresh start, into a life not centred on the hunt. Maybe they should go to Amsterdam after all.

Sam looked at Dean, as if pondering the question. "Yes, Dean there is something wrong." Dean was about to interrupt him when Sam raised a hand to silence him. "You have been staring out the window for the last three hours and I know you haven't slept. Something is wrong and we are not leaving here until you tell me what's eating at you."

Dean suppressed a sigh and started talking. He should have known Sam wouldn't give up so easily.

oOo

Dean finished his account of the events of the past week. Sam had listened attentively, not taking his eyes off Dean the entire time. He appeared shaken, but composed.

"Do you think the Demon is behind this?" Sam finally asked.

"No," Dean replied, shaking his head. "I don't doubt it could and would follow us no matter where we go, but this doesn't seem like the work of a demon. At least not our Demon. It would have killed you given the chance."

"You're probably right," Sam conceded, not relishing the memory of what had happened the last time they'd run into the Demon. "Then what were they?"

"Does it matter?" Dean asked, already knowing that it would to his brother.

"I can't believe this is coming from you, of all people! What if burning the bodies didn't do the trick? And why is it that I can't remember anything about what happened? Are you sure there isn't something else that you are not telling me?"

"Trust me, I told you everything." Dean wished there had been another way, but at least for the moment Sam seemed to be taking things rather well.

Dean had a theory about Sam's memory loss, one which had nothing to do with anything supernatural, but he wasn't about to share it with his brother.

"Can we leave now? I told Phil we'd be there by nightfall. I can take over if you want to get some sleep," Dean proposed, plastering a grin on his face.

Sam said nothing. Instead he opened the door and climbed out of the Impala. For a moment, Dean thought Sam was once again taking off, but Sam simply walked around the car, obviously to change places for the moment. Dean breathed a sigh a relief and slid over into the driver's seat. Sam got back into the car. Dean started the engine and pulled them back onto the road.

"Thanks."

"Huh?" Dean looked over at Sam.

"For telling me about what happened. I know…I can't imagine what it was like for you when…"

"Stop it. I told you what you wanted to know. That's it, end of story," Dean interrupted Sam before he had the chance to go all 'caring-and-sharing' on him.

"I know; I know…no chick-flick-moments," Sam said, raising his hands as if in defence, but there was the hint of a smile on his face. "So, how did you talk Phil into letting us stay at his place again? He thought we were demons and nearly blasted us with his shot-gun the last time we showed up."

"Yeah, he can be a bit paranoid. But we can't exactly be picky these days," Dean said with a shrug. He didn't really care where they were staying, as long as they had food and a roof over their head, preferably without having to resort to petty crime.

"I guess Bradfield didn't help. You think Tony will be pressing charges?"

"For the assault? I don't think so. He works with the police, but I think he's on our side on this one. Not to mention that he was pretty freaked out by these things. He probably thinks that no one would believe him anyways."

"Isn't it always like that?" Sam laughed.

oOo

"You can't be serious! There is no such thing as ghosts!" Carol exclaimed when Tony told her what had really happened that night at the house. "And even if there were, I can't believe you let a man like Dean Winchester escape!" Tony winced. He had dreaded this conversation, but he owed it to Carol to tell her the truth. Even when the truth defied rational explanation.

"I'm not pressing charges because of the assault and he wasn't in the country for the murders and abductions. All Dean Winchester did was burn a few bodies. That may be a sign of some deep-seated pathology, but I don't think it's worth the hassle of international legal manoeuvring. The case will never come to trial here in England anyways," Tony replied. He wasn't sure what to think of Dean. It was as if he had allowed a short glimpse into another world, one filled with very different sorts of monsters than the ones he helped put behind bars. To Sam and Dean that world was real and for a few days it had been for him.

"Even if I accepted your explanation, what about all their outstanding warrants? I can't just ignore that. I have to issue a warrant against Dean for arson and tampering with a police investigation. The DA won't give me a choice."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't. All I can give you is my professional opinion. I don't know enough about the cases in which they are supposedly implicated according to the FBI. It wouldn't surprise me if some of it were true. From what little the FBI did tell us about their backgrounds, they certainly grew up in an environment that would explain their paranoid tendencies and …."

"Tony, stop. What are you trying to say?" Carol stopped him before he had the chance to launch into a lecture.

"I can only speak for what I've seen and the profiles I have been able to compile based on psychiatric and statistical information. Anything else has to be decided in a court of law."

"Good, at least we see eye to eye on that. There is a warrant out for them, but somehow I doubt that we'll be able to find them. But if we do, they will most likely be extradited." Carol closed the folder on her desk as if that settled the matter. It was just as well with Tony.

"I should be getting back to the university. I have papers to grade, if I don't want to lose my job." Tony got up and headed for the door.

"Are you sure that you are all right?" Carol called after him.

Tony stopped and turned around. "I'm not sure, Carol. I'm just not sure. I let a suspect get to me. I should know better than that." The only consolation was that his involvement had saved at least one, if not two lives. But Dean Winchester had opened a door in his mind that should have remained closed. If he couldn't be sure anymore that humans were the only monsters to walk the face of the earth, then what could he be sure of?

"Take some time off," Carol told him, her voice softening.

"I will." Tony said and meant it.

The End


End file.
